Chapter 12

  Elira had frozen mid-sentence, her eyes locking onto Arya. A small shiver ran down her spine, the same involuntary reaction she’d had during their first encounter. She wasn’t sure if it was fear, unease, or simply her body warning her of Arya’s overwhelming presence. Either way, it kept her on edge.

  Sarah stepped forward, her movements commanding attention. The way her blue eyes—crimson? They were blue but seemed to glow crimson sometimes—bore into Elira was unsettling yet strangely magnetic. Sarah stopped a few steps away and tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a faint smile. "I’d expect at least a bow and a proper introduction," she said, her tone polite yet with traces of overwhelming authority.

  Elira hesitated, glancing at Arya, who remained silent but observant. Then, with a small breath to steel herself, Elira gave a slight bow. "Elira Lorne," she said, her voice steady despite her apprehension. "That’s my name."

  Even as she spoke, her mind raced. This woman was different. She exuded an aura even more intimidating than Arya’s. If Arya was a demon—and that was obvious—then this one must be a demon as well. But not just any demon. From the way she acted, she looked like Arya’s superior, maybe even her leader.

  Sarah observed Elira for a moment, her expression unreadable. Internally, she weighed her options. The logical choice was to kill Elira here and now. A human who had seen too much, who had crossed paths with Arya and was now here in the middle of their operation, couldn’t be allowed to leave. It was a simple solution. But then Sarah’s gaze shifted briefly to Arya.

  Arya had spared this girl. That alone was surprising, considering Arya’s typical ruthlessness, especially toward humans. Of course, it probably had been due to some trivial reason, but encouraging this softer behavior might benefit their operations in the long run—making Arya more tolerant to humans would be certainly good.

  "Sarah," she finally said, introducing herself with a simple gesture toward her chest. "And I have to say, you have some interesting spells."

  Elira’s wary eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the acknowledgment—maybe she had expected instant death for her?

  "They’re not actual spells," she said after a brief pause. "They’re... skills, I suppose, passed down through my lineage."

  Sarah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Skills?"

  Elira nodded. "I’m human," she clarified, feeling the need to emphasize that fact. "But I’m also a descendant of Witchers. They were created through magical mutations—a process that enhanced their strength, speed, and other abilities. I inherited some of those traits, though not all."

  Sarah’s interest deepened. A Witcher? That was new. This was yet another element that hadn’t existed back in the game. She hadn’t encountered Witchers before, nor anything like those techniques. The mention of magical mutations stirred her curiosity further. It was yet another reason to let this girl live.

  Arya, however, wasn’t as impressed, perhaps due to not being that enthusiastic about magic and techniques like Nami and Sarah. She folded her arms and took a step closer, her crimson eyes narrowing as she fixed her gaze on Elira. "I told you not to dig too deeply into this," Arya said, her voice low and serious. "And yet, here you are."

  Elira tensed, her grip tightening on the hilt of her silver sword. She took a step back, the memory of Arya’s earlier power still fresh in her mind. "I’m not here to interfere," she said quickly, her voice firm but edged with caution. "I’m just here to save the girl."

  Arya’s glare didn’t waver, but before she could press further, Sarah raised a hand, cutting her off. "Leave her alone, Arya," Sarah said, her tone calm but commanding.

  Arya hesitated, then let out a small sigh, taking a step back. "Fine," she muttered, though her gaze lingered on Elira, her distrust evident.

  Elira let out a quiet breath of relief, but her guard remained up. "I won’t mess with whatever you’re doing here," she said, addressing Sarah this time. "I just want to save the girl."

  Sarah studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Her name is Tuah," she said, her voice softening just a fraction. "And you can come along with us. Once this is all over, you can take her."

  Elira blinked, surprised by the offer. She had expected resistance—perhaps even a fight. Instead, this woman was allowing her to accompany them. Well, she should be grateful… she doubts she could win against one of them, let alone the two.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Because I said so," Sarah replied simply, her expression revealing nothing.

  Elira glanced at Arya, who looked equally surprised but kept her thoughts to herself. After a moment’s hesitation, Elira nodded. "Alright," she said, her voice steady. "I’ll follow your lead."

  Sarah turned, gesturing for them to move forward. Arya fell in step beside her, though her gaze occasionally flicked toward Elira, clearly still displeased. Elira followed a few paces behind.

  As they walked deeper into the tunnels, the atmosphere grew heavier. The air was damp and cold, carrying the faint scent of something old. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly, accompanied by the occasional drip of water from the stone ceiling.

  Elira’s thoughts drifted as she followed the two demons. She had no idea what she was walking into, but one thing was clear—Sarah and Arya were far more than they appeared. This level of strength… she had never seen it. The two were perhaps even stronger than Merlin, although she couldn’t be sure about that.

  The tunnels seemed to stretch endlessly, their narrow pathways illuminated only by the faint glow of torches and lanterns on the walls. Elira walked slightly behind the two demons, her hand on the hilt of her silver sword. Each step seemed to add weight to Elira’s unease, but she forced herself to remain calm.

  "Tell me more about this Witcher lineage of yours," Sarah broke the silence, her voice smooth.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Elira glanced up, momentarily caught off guard. She hesitated, her fingers tightening on the hilt of her sword. "Witchers," she began, her voice steady but cautious, "were humans who underwent magical mutations. A long time ago, they were created to fight monsters, their bodies enhanced to make them stronger, faster, more durable." She paused, exhaling slowly. "I didn’t go through those mutations myself. No one in my family has for generations. I’m just... a descendant of one."

  Sarah hummed thoughtfully, her gaze fixed ahead but her attention clearly focused on Elira’s words. "I see," she said after a moment. "That’s definitely interesting. I didn’t know about this."

  Elira gave a small nod, her unease clear. "Most people don’t," she admitted. "And to be honest, I’m... grateful you think it’s interesting. A lot of people would call me a freak if they knew."

  At this, Sarah chuckled softly, a sound that sent an involuntary shiver down Elira’s spine. "A freak?" Sarah repeated, her tone amused. She glanced over her shoulder, her piercing blue eyes locking onto Elira. "You’re powerful, at least when compared to those weaklings. Why care what they think?"

  Elira stopped breathing for a moment, her body tensing as those eyes looked into her. There was something otherworldly about Sarah’s gaze—something infinite. It was like staring into a void that stretched endlessly, a void that could see through her very soul. It wasn’t just unnerving; it was overwhelming… just like with Arya, but slightly different.

  "Y-You’re right," Elira managed, though her voice wavered slightly. She tried to look away, but her eyes were drawn back to Sarah’s. There was no malice there, but the intensity was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  Arya, walking beside Sarah, glanced back at Elira and smirked. "She looks like she’s about to collapse," Arya teased, her tone filled with mockery.

  Elira flinched, her unease shifting quickly into fear. Arya’s crimson eyes were different from Sarah’s—they didn’t carry that same infinite depth, but there was an unmistakable danger in them, a sharpness that made Elira feel like prey being sized up by a predator.

  Sarah slowed her pace, turning her head slightly to address Arya. "Leave her alone," she said.

  Arya shrugged, her smirk widening. "I didn’t do anything," she said innocently, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.

  Sarah’s gaze lingered on Arya for a moment before she turned back to Elira. "She’s just trying to intimidate you," Sarah said, her voice softer now. "She’s like that."

  Elira nodded quickly, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. She couldn’t help but feel a bit more wary of Arya. She looked more dangerous than Sarah.

  The three continued walking, the silence returning. Elira tried to focus on her breathing, her thoughts drifting. She didn’t fully understand these two, but one thing was clear: they were far beyond anything she’d encountered before.

  Eventually, Sarah spoke again, her voice breaking the quiet. "You said people would call you a freak," she began, her tone almost conversational. "Does anyone know about your lineage?"

  Elira shook her head. "Not many," she admitted. "I try to keep it to myself. Most of the time, people just assume I’m a regular human."

  Sarah nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Humans fear what they don’t understand," she said simply. "It’s a weakness they’ve never overcome."

  Arya chuckled at that, her fangs briefly visible in the dim light. "And yet here she is, walking with demons," she said, glancing at Elira. "You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that."

  Elira didn’t respond, unsure if Arya’s comment was a compliment or a taunt. She focused instead on the path ahead.

  Sarah, noticing Elira’s silence, decided to ease the tension. "You’re holding up well," she said, her tone almost approving. "Most humans wouldn’t last this long in our presence without breaking. I mean, I am not restricting my Devil Aura right now, weaker ones could die from my presence alone."

  Elira blinked, unsure if Sarah meant it as encouragement or a subtle warning. "I’m... used to dealing with the unusual," she said carefully.

  "Is that so?" Sarah asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

  Elira nodded. "Monsters, mostly," she said. "I had been hunting them for years as an adventurer."

  "Impressive," Sarah said, though her expression remained neutral. She glanced at Arya, whose smirk had returned.

  "Is that why you spared her? Because of this Witcher thing?" Sarah leaned to Arya, whispering close to her so Elira wouldn’t hear it.

  Arya answered with a smirk. "I thought she had a pretty face.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “And I was almost calling you smart for that…”

  As they continued deeper into the tunnels, Elira couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being tested. Whether by Sarah, Arya, or both, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she’d have to be careful.

  ***

  Eventually, the group finally emerged into a large underground chamber. Elira's eyes widened as she looked around. The chamber was gigantic, its ceiling at least ten meters overhead, with ornate stonework and ancient pillars lining the sides. The size of it was surreal, almost impossible to conceive that something like that would be buried this deep beneath the surface.

  “This is... insane,” Elira muttered under her breath.

  In the center of the room stood two men, one tall and wiry with his slicked-back hair and an air of arrogance about him, the other broader and stockier, his demeanor more subdued yet no less menacing. The taller man stepped forward, arms outstretched in a theatrical gesture.

  “Welcome, welcome!” he exclaimed, his voice echoing dramatically in the chamber. “I am Orin, and this is my associate, Dregan. We’re delighted you’ve made it this far!”

  Orin’s grin was unsettling, a mix of excitement and malice. He spoke with an exaggerated flair, like an actor performing for an audience. And then it clicked why.

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed as her gaze moved to one of the walls. There, on a raised deck, sat a group of fancily dressed men and women. There were around ten or twelve of them, all watching with interest. Some sipped from ornate glasses, others leaned forward with anticipation.

  “Well, that explains the theatrics,” Sarah said dryly, her voice cutting through the tension.

  Orin beamed, clearly pleased by the observation. “Indeed, my dear! Our distinguished guests are here for a spectacle—a grand show to entertain and amuse!” He gestured flamboyantly toward the seated onlookers.

  Arya’s expression darkened, her lips curling into a sneer. “A spectacle?” she repeated, her tone full of disdain.

  Orin clapped his hands together, his grin widening. “Oh, yes! You see, we only had a few hours’ notice, but when we heard about someone interfering in our affairs, we knew we had to act quickly. The guests were summoned, the room prepared—and here you are!”

  Dregan, who had remained silent until now, crossed his arms and added in a gruff voice, “The idea’s simple. You fight to the death, and they get their show. Should be entertaining enough.”

  Elira stiffened, her grip tightening on her sword. The two didn’t seem like they’d be a problem for her… well they probably didn’t know she was the one who would come here, let alone people like Arya and Sarah. Unfortunately, they have no Witcher senses like her to be able to discern the danger they currently are facing.

  Orin chuckled, shaking his head as he saw Elira’s tense look. “Oh, I assure you, my dear, we are quite serious. You three will face us—and perhaps a little... extra surprise or two. It’s nothing personal, of course,” he added, his tone mockingly apologetic. “Just business.”

  Sarah tilted her head slightly, her expression calm but her eyes sharp and calculating. “You put this together in just a few hours?” she asked, almost as if she were impressed.

  “Well, we couldn’t let such an opportunity slip by!” Orin replied, his enthusiasm present. “When we heard about the chaos you caused, we knew you’d be perfect for this. A rare chance for our patrons to witness something truly... special.”

  Elira glanced at Sarah, unsure of how to react. The demon was unnervingly calm, as though she was simply evaluating the situation rather than facing imminent combat. After a moment, Sarah spoke.

  “So, let me get this straight,” she said, her voice cold and steady. “You summoned an audience, and now you expect us to entertain them by fighting you to the death?”

  Orin nodded eagerly. “Precisely!”

  Sarah’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Well,” she said softly, “this will be a lot of fun.”

  Orin’s grin faltered slightly as he looked at Sarah’s eyes, a hint of confidence he hadn’t anticipated.

  “Shall we begin, then?” Arya asked.

  Orin composed himself quickly, his grin returning. “By all means,” he said, stepping back and gesturing for Dregan to join him. “Let the spectacle begin!”